


gonna be you and me (gonna be everything you've ever dreamed)

by streimel



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dreamsharing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:27:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10314278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/streimel/pseuds/streimel
Summary: Dreaming about Justin on a nightly basis would be one thing.Blurring the lines of where the dreams end and reality begins is another.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in a long time, and never anything hockey before so...idk hopefully it's not shit?
> 
> I just had so many feelings about Olli and Justin and yeah...
> 
> Title from Flume's "You & Me"

It always starts the same way.

Or, basically the same. Wherever they are on the road, lunch is different, whatever their hotel is serving them. He usually sits between Justin and Dumo, Tanger and Dales on the other side, but sometimes it's Flower, and if it's Flower, then Sid is beside him. But after that, they eat, and when the clock strikes two, everything shuts down like Cinderella running off at midnight; they head in packs to the elevator, chasing sleep.

He and Justin always seemingly end up in the one of the last groups. He stands crammed in next to Justin, staring up at the ceiling. His mind wants to stray, but he tries not to let it - he's really not trying to fuel the fire. If it wants to get creative when he lets his guard down, he can't really stop it, but he's not going to openly stare at Justin's ass where it presses into his thigh they're wall-to-wall with 12 other guys.

When he has a roommate, it's usually Dumo, who's there mostly before him and occasionally after, it doesn't really matter. Justin's usually around him somewhere, maybe next door, maybe across the hall. Justin always says the same thing as they reach their own rooms, ready to part for a few hours.

"Sleep tight, Olli."

He doesn't always respond, but that's just him - Justin never waits for him to say something back, because he just usually doesn't. He closes the door behind him, draws the blackout curtains, and lays on his stomach on the bed, listening for Dumo's breath to fall off into a rhythmic pattern before letting himself slip into sleep.

And then he waits for the dreams to come to him.

* * *

He's in the blue room again. This has to be the fifth or sixth time.

He figured out eventually it must be what his brain had assigned as Justin's room, but it still didn't quite make sense. For a room he's never actually seen in person, he's gotten the details down to the minutiae, and it never changes, no matter how many different dreams he has. It's all Justin - a picture of him and his dad fishing in BC on his dresser, a putter stood up in the corner. Jeans thrown over the back of his chair. His nightstand drawer ajar, showing a half-used Kleenex package, headphones, some cough drops, a Whole Foods receipt. Condoms. Lube.

He feels a tug, and looks down at Justin, sitting criss-cross at the end of the bed. Justin has one hand around his ankle, thumb rubbing warm circles on the bone. He doesn't know where he's jumping into this dream - are they just beginning, or just ending? He's in boxers, but so is Justin, and it doesn't really help him decide either way.

He feels himself smile at Justin, and Justin crawls up the bed, pressing against him, body to body. The strangest part of the dreams is how real it always feels - like Justin is actually there, with him, against him, tongue tracing the seam of his lips, asking for entrance. His hands steal up, threading through the curls of Justin's hair, and it feels warm, soft. _Real_.

He knows he's going to wake up. Not in Justin's bed, but in his hotel room in Montreal. It won't be the middle of the night in Pittsburgh. It will be 3:30, or 4, Quebec time. Justin won't be in his bed, he'll be in his room down the hall, and it will be Dumo in the bed next to his. But for a moment, he allows himself to indulge in the phantom feeling of Justin, licking into his mouth as their hips begin to find a rhythm against each other. Their cocks press together, straining through cotton, and Justin sighs into his mouth.

An alarm goes off, and Olli's first response is to reach for the clock on the nightstand, but it's just too real to be dreamlike, and that urges him into the awareness that the noise isn't coming from any alarm clock. When his brain realizes it's a phone alarm going off, his eyes fly open.

His hand scrambles around the bed for his phone, but it's quiet when he picks it up; it's only 2:40 - his alarm isn't set to go off for over an hour. He looks at the table between their beds, but Dumo's phone lays silent, Dumo still completely out. He drops his face to the pillow, half-confused, half-frustrated. As much as he would love to close his eyes and fall back into sleep, his hips press down into the mattress, reminding him of things yet unresolved. Since the dreams began, it always ends up the same way - he rolls out of bed, closing the bathroom door behind him quietly before switching on the lights, and starts the shower.

Sometimes it doesn't take long. Sometimes he doesn't have the luxury for it to - when he wakes up right before his or Dumo's alarm is set to go off, raging erection because he was dreaming about Justin grinding up against him in his kitchen, or the locker room, it's like a sprint, finish before anyone finds out. But when he wakes up early, times like these, he doesn't need to rush.

He steps into the shower, letting the stream beat down on him first, lazily circling one fist around the head of his cock while trying to bring back the images of Justin. He leans his forehead against the tile, holding his sack back with his other hand, and gets a steady pace going, remembering every fragmented dream of Justin, interspersed with a few moments from real life. The shower is loud, and he lets himself moan out a few low "Justin, Justin"s before tipping over the edge, milking himself through the aftershocks.

His hair is almost dry by the time Dumo wakes up, but he still notices.

"Is this going to be your thing now?" Dumo chirps, mussing his damp hair as he walks by. "Post-nap shower as a game day ritual?"

He just laughs, as if agreeing. He couldn't explain even if he wanted to.

On the bus, Justin pushes past him to the window seat, leaning his head against the window and yawning emphatically. When he shoots Justin raised eyebrows, Justin smiles slyly at him before falling into totally constructed grumpiness.

"Dales accidentally set his alarm for 2:40 instead of 3:40," Justin half-whines, pushing Dales' seat in front of him and getting a regretful " _dude, I'm really sorry_!" back. "Remind me to room with you next time. Hopefully I won't have any problems sleeping with you."

Someone around them snorts under their breath at that, but Justin ignores it. He drops a head to his shoulder dramatically, pretending to go back to sleep before he shoves him off, both of them laughing. Sully grabs the driver's PA mic, giving them the run down of their schedule getting into the arena, and he barely has time to think about what Justin said.

* * *

He doesn't remember exactly when the dreams started.

Thinking back, it wasn't when Justin first arrived. Through the playoffs, and into the summer, it was fine - not a single illicit dream, of Justin sliding fingertips under the waistband of his pants, or Justin, under him, clutching at the sheets with his head thrown back.

And then they came back for the season and it was like a levee breaking.

The only commonality he had found when he dreamed was that it always seemed to happen on road trips, and only when Justin said something to him as they got to their rooms; after they parted, he would lay down and, without fail, the dreams would come. Sometimes, when Justin was on another floor, not around to bid him to sleep well, or even at home in Pittsburgh, he would still get wisps of him in a dream, a fleeting moment of a smile, fingers running softly through his hair, but he didn't get _those_ type of dreams.

He had guessed, when he stopped to think about it, that it all made sense in a strange way - when Justin said the last thing he heard before sleep, he figured his brain just didn't shut off thinking about him. Not that he was having an easy time doing that when he was awake, anyway, but game day was something different. Justin next to him, on the bus, pointing out the sights they passed. Justin, beside him in the locker room, stealing his tape, then his scissors. Justin, laughing out loud while they ate, pushing at his knee under the table to get him to laugh, too. Justin, streaking down the ice, deflecting in a shot from G on the power play, proving to everyone his worth.

It was becoming nearly impossible to get Justin off his mind, asleep or awake.

And, really without him noticing it, it got worse. As if having Justin as a near-constant presence in his dreams on the regular were not a sign of his heart quickly falling hard, a slight, familiar chirping had begun, not quite aloud, but small snippets he caught in passing, secret smiles and elbowed ribs from a few guys on their way by. He heard Horny on the ice during warm-ups, barely following along to some fragments he only just half-understood from years of stupid Swedish class, but when Horny pinned him against the glass, giggling about his face lighting like sunshine around Justin, and something about him maybe being so pale instead, it seemed everyone else was catching on.

Except, maybe, for Justin himself.

In a way, it seemed almost better that Justin _didn't_ realize it. He had diagrams and charts, tape he could review on how best to exit the zone or check going into the corner, experts who showed him the fastest way to break out after turning on his edges, or how to sweep a puck away from a oncoming forward. But when it came to this, he had no roadmap for telling his teammate, that, _hey, by the way, just wanted to mention I might be falling completely in love with you._

Not that he'd say it like that. Trying to think back, he'd always felt, with no lack of certainty, that the people he had ending up falling for had given him as much back in return to let him know they wanted him as well.

But.

Justin was Justin, and he couldn't figure out if Justin was actually being endearingly fond or just overly Canadian. For the very practical reasons of, essentially, not shitting where he ate, he had intentionally tried to avoid falling for a teammate for this specific reason, and the blurred lines of personal space didn't help him decipher if Justin's touchiness and playfulness was well-intentioned friendliness or a hint of something deeper.

They arrive in LA from Anaheim at some god-awful hour of the night, and their keys are ready for them, practically handed out in a line so they don't even stop, just truck it straight to the elevator. Justin squeezes in next to him with his luggage as they get pushed to the back corner, throwing him an apologetic smile when Bones elbows Justin into him, whining about squeezing on one more.

"What floors?" Hags calls, next to the control panel, and they both say _19_ together, slight smiles sent each other's way when they realize.

"Are we next to each other?" Justin asks, taking his hand to turn it, looking at his room key, and then Justin laughs. "Oh man, we have to switch."

He looks down at his hand, still cupped in Justin's, and sees the _1904_ on the card, and then at Justin's, with its _1903_ , and he laughs, too. "Sure, yeah," he says, pathetically feeling the loss when Justin lets go of his hand to switch their keys.

Bones rolls his eyes for show, saying something about how superstitions are getting more ridiculous by the day, and he shoots back a " _jaaa, kusipää_ " that makes the whole elevator descend into a level of giggles only reached when they've collectively been up for far too long; even though they know it means asshole, they always think it's a thousand times funnier coming from him, of all people. Bones exasperatedly rolls his eyes again, getting off a few floors below them with a "goodnight boys, fuck off Olli" while Hags follow along, jokingly telling Bones to call him a _skitstövel_ next time.

When they reach their floor, Justin loops their arms together, pulling him down the hall to their rooms. It's another one of those moments he can't decipher, if it's friendly, or if it's Justin trying to get closer. In front of their doors, he feels his mouth go dry, simultaneously hoping and not hoping Justin will say what he always says, will allow him the chance to pretend, for a moment, that there is something more between them.

"Sleep tight, Olli," Justin says, a sweet smile over his shoulder as he moves into his room, and he sits there for a moment, almost dumbfounded, before swiping his own card to unlock his door.

* * *

He puts the TV on while he gets ready for bed, barely paying attention to Jimmy Fallon and whoever he has on while he packs his suit pants away, not even bothering reaching for pajamas. He walks back towards the hall, not missing the door that connects to Justin's room, and turns on the faucet, running his toothbrush underneath.

He's just rinsing when someone knocks on his door, and it takes a moment for him to realize it's the in-suite door, not the door to the hallway. He doesn't think twice about opening it, though he does take a quick check at his phone on the counter, just to make sure Justin didn't text him first, if something were maybe wrong.

As it is, Justin walks straight in without a word, clad in his underwear and not much else, and flops down in the middle of the bed with a tired sigh.

"I can't sleep." He's watching from the bathroom, rinsing off his face, and Justin begins smiling at the ceiling, as if he also knows he's being petulant. They've barely been in their rooms for 10 minutes; either Justin has no intention of going to sleep, or he's being ridiculous, just to be ridiculous.

"And sleeping in my bed is supposed to help that?" he asks, throwing his towel around his neck. After a moment, it sinks in just exactly how that sounded, and when he looks up, Justin is just staring at him, some type of look he doesn't _understand_. It makes his stomach flutter, the blood rushing down too quick, and he steps back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him under the pretense of taking a piss while he tries to talk his dick down, enough so he can make it back out there without looking too obvious.

By the time he gets it under control, Justin is gone. The pit of his stomach drops, aggravated with himself over making Justin feel awkward enough to leave pretty much just as fast as he came. It's not until he gets in bed, reaching for his phone to set his alarm, that he sees the text from Justin. He holds his breath, putting in his code, and opens it.

_what if it did?_

It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

* * *

They're already halfway through something when his dream begins. He can't tell where they are, but it doesn't seem to matter really - it could either be this hotel or the fucking moon and he wouldn't even notice. There's just no time to look around when Justin's sucking kisses into his shoulder.

It isn't as light as usual. Justin is all up in his space, not letting go for a second, arms wrapped under him as Justin slots his dick between his hip and his cock, sliding across his belly. His underwear is around his knees, keeping his legs trapped, but when his tries to kick them off, Justin mouths an "uh-uh" against his cheek, pinning him down harder.

Somewhere, in the back part of his brain that vaguely knows what's going on right now, he realizes he's definitely going to cum in his sleep like this.

Justin gets a hand between them, tucked under his leg, and bends his knee up, allowing him more access to his body. Their cocks are still sliding together, Justin leaving a trail of pre-cum across his belly, and he arches up more into it when Justin swipes the pad of a thumb against him, circling his hole with rough fingers. He whines out, almost embarrassed, but Justin smiles at him, lop-sided.

"Yeah, Olli, I got you, I'm here."

Justin strokes the skin behind his sack, pressing a thumb up against him as he reaches down between them, getting a hand on himself and Justin. Justin rolls his balls in one hand, moaning low, and when he looks up, he knows Justin's close.

Now it's Justin's turn to chant his name, mouth pressing along his jaw as he sighs it out, again and again, and he twists his wrist, stroking them together. He feels it build low through his belly, tightening along his thighs, his sack, his cock, and then Justin cums first, hot cum striping across his stomach and hip, something he won't ever be able to forget. Justin calls out to him, and he looks up to watch Justin's face, so beautiful to him, as he comes undone.

He's just almost there, ready to follow along, when the dream stops.

He shoots into awareness with a gasp, body so close to completion, and it's more of an involuntary mechanic than dedicated thought that his hand yanks down his underwear, getting onto his straining dick for a few quick pumps before he cums, feeling it running down over his hand as he pulls himself through the end.

It takes a long moment to come back to himself; he just feels lucky he was in a room alone tonight, heavy gulps for air almost reverberating in the room as he comes down off his high. The AC kicks on, cool drafts blowing across the room, and he flips on the nightstand lamp, reaching out for the tissue box, when he realizes something isn't quite right.

Tracing a finger across the plains of his belly, he drags along the cum on his hip, then the cum amongst the patch of hair surrounding his cock. He sits up on his elbows, looking at his body, and then he fingers, and he knows it's crazy, it's impossible, but that's Justin's cum on his body.

He looks at the differences, Justin's cum a little thinner, a little more translucent than the pearly, thick ropes he always shoots, and he can't help but swipe his finger through it again, bringing it to his mouth - it doesn't even taste like himself.

It's ridiculous to think it's Justin's. Even if he can't think of it at the moment, there has to be a more logical answer than _dreaming cum into real life_. He kicks off his underwear, turning it inside out, but it's dry, killing that reasoning; it was still on when he woke up, and it doesn't make sense for them not to be wet if he came twice, even if he was willing to explain why he had two different types of cum on two different parts of his body. He drags his finger along the cum again, feeling the last dregs of warmth as it cools in the air, and feels like laughing, in the true meaning of hysterical laughter. There's no way.

And yet, there's no _other_ way.

He rolls out of bed, checking the in-suite and hallway doors on his way to the bathroom, but both are still dead-bolted. Even if he wanted to potentially rule in someone, maybe Justin even, sneaking in his room to cum on him in the middle of the night, it'd be impossible.

But more impossible than what his brain keeps trying to argue?

He stands in front of the mirror, looking at his body for a while, trying to come to terms with what just happened. His mind keeps saying it can't be real, that this cannot be what's actually happening. But he knows what he dreamed, watched the whole scene play out in his mind, and it's hard to deny that somehow, he's bringing parts of his dreams back out into waking life.

As he starts cleaning himself off, he remembers what Justin said, about Dales' alarm going off early, and it makes him freeze. If it's not all a great coincidence, he realizes that Justin must also be dreaming these dreams, and that the alarm that woke up Justin also woke up him, because their dream must have been shared between them.

He can't stop the " _oh my fucking god_ " that comes out of his mouth.

* * *

Being home provides some relief, and distance, from the dreams, but what happened in California won't leave him alone.

What he needs is a simple answer to a very unsimple question. He doesn't know exactly what would happen if he approached Justin with "hey, did you happen to dream you came on me last week when we were in LA?", but he can only imagine the response. Reconciling the fact that, bizarre as it seems, he dreamed Justin's cum into real life, he doesn't know if he's the one controlling it, or Justin.

He didn't even think about the possibility until Antti had suggested it after he mentioned it when he skyped him to ask for advice, sparing a few of the finer details and leaving just a general synopsis of what happened in the dream and after.

"Oh, yeah, that's normal," Antti had said, as if it were obvious. "Viki and I knew we were pretty much meant to be when she pulled flowers out of a dream we shared. We were in a field, and I picked them for her, and when she woke up, she was still holding them."

"Are you suggesting Justin is my soulmate because I wake up with physical reminders of my dreams?" he had said, only slightly incredulous, and Antti had rolled his eyes, laughing.

"C'mon, I mean, it's probably pretty rare, but you don't just routinely dream about the same person in explicit detail like that without something else going on."

He couldn't really argue that point.

"You said yourself it happens when you're closer," Antti had gone on to explain. "That's the point. If you slept next to one another, it'd be even stronger. You said the dream was so intense, but you were sharing a room almost. That's why in Pittsburgh, you only get fragments, because you're floors away from each other, right? I bet you've never had quite such a vivid dream about him while you've been here at home, right?"

It's a lot to take in, and it leaves more questions than anything. "Okay, but are we making the dreams together, or am I dreaming it and he's just ending up in them? I don't want to be dragging him into this if he didn't want it."

Antti shrugs. "I don't know. I think I dream them up, because Viki's said before she didn't recognize some places we go, but it's places I've definitely been to. So maybe it's like, genetic, or something, since both of us seem to be able to do it. And, listen, I'm pretty sure they've have to be accepting of it, right? If this is your person, he has to want it, too. Trust me, everything that's happening is only going to get more intense the more you feel for each other."

It's not something Antti would lie about, but long after their conversation ends, he still has a hard time coming to terms with the idea that this is happening because he and Justin are bonding on some subconscious level, and he's finding it all out by dreaming about Justin's taste on his mouth or warmth on his skin when he wakes up. Everyone else in the world seemingly just has their heart speak to them, but he's fighting off nightly wet dreams on the road.

Justin, for his own part, acts so serenely normal after LA he begins to wonder if Justin is actually sharing these dreams with him or not, but when they get home at the end of the roadtrip, Justin texts him what he assumes is an apology for him coming into his room, explaining he didn't mean to make it weird.

He doesn't even respond, so unsure of where to begin, and sort of belatedly realizes he himself was the one making it weird, almost withdrawing completely while he tried to figure this out, and that only happens when Flower finally elbows him sharp in the ribs as he acts as a screen in practice, nodding a chin to Justin down ice and asking "everything okay?"

He tries to deflect in Phil's shot, but Flower bats it away, slapping him on the ass with his blocker as the play moves toward back toward Sid and Phil.

"Answer me, Snow White," Flower pushes, and he shrugs, trying to keep his eyes on the play just as Justin gets a takeaway from Phil.

"Look, it's overwhelming when you realize you're in love with someone. I mean, shit man, I was _16_ when it happened to me. But don't fuck it up because you're afraid."

He's so goddamned surprised about everything in this one-sided conversation he actually turns around to incredulously look at Flower, letting a puck hit his stick from behind that's inevitably stolen away by a passing Geno, getting an aggravated "Olli!" from Gonch and Sully simultaneously before he skates back into play.

He keeps skating in circles after everyone leaves, chasing a puck up and down the ice until one of the training staff tells him to knock it off and get inside, and he sits in his stall, unable to commit himself into moving, into doing anything practical but turn Flower's words over and over in his head, backwards and upside trying to make sense of everything.

He would have never said he was _afraid_ of what he felt, but when he looks at Justin's space, right next to his, he feels the anxiety wash over his back. This was Justin, the guy who sat right next to him, the guy who he paired up with in practice, the guy he might have forced into a dream-sharing bond. He didn't even know if Justin's own heart actively contributed to these dreams, out of mutual affection, or if he had dragged him along into it. Every thing he knows leads into a million more questions that don't have answers, if Justin even wants him in return, if they could be together, and work it out, and not fall apart.

His fear over the lack of control boils over at once, until he presses his forehead against his knees, hands tangled in his hair. This wasn't what he had imagined, growing up - he wanted to fall in love like everyone else, seemingly uncomplicatedly, without the mindfucking dreams or the potential dynamics of public speculation as played out in sport's media.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, trying to get a grip on reality, but he jerks up suddenly, because he just _knows_ that Justin is around. Across the room, Justin stands in the doorway, shirt drenched in sweat from his workout, and they both stare at each other for a long moment, neither moving to say a word.

"I don't know what's been going on," Justin says finally, fingering the hem of his shirt awkwardly, "but if you need...like, to talk, or whatever, I want you to know I'm always here."

There's an infinite amount of things he should say, to show his appreciation, for Justin's friendship and his understanding, of Justin's willingness to not judge him for his withdrawn behavior, or the aloofness he's shown that's uncharacteristic even for him. But he can't - not when he can almost _feel_ Justin, not just his presence but the waves of uncertainty rolling off him, tinged with sadness. He tries to tell himself, that he's just learned Justin so well that he's just reading it off of his face, and his posture, but he knows that's not quite it; he's getting something deeper.

He doesn't miss the hurt when he walks past Justin, because he can't. Even if he didn't see Justin's face, he could feel it in his mouth, the acrid, metal taste of rejection, the way it drips down into his belly, making it feel sour. Justin's " _Olli_ ", called after him, hits him on two levels, heartbroken and afraid, and he has to get away from Justin now, because it's so overwhelming.

It's an awful thing to do. He feels Justin's misery until he's driven a good mile away, music blaring futilely in an attempt to drown out thought on any level. He's half-tempted to call Antti and ask if this is what he meant when he said things were going to get more intense, to feel Justin when he's awake as well, but he'd have to admit what he's doing to Justin in the first place, and it's not something he's ready to face.

He drives home, going through the motions of shower, dinner, bed. It's only 7, but he gets under the blankets, pulling them over his head. His hears his phone vibrate twice on the nightstand, but he doesn't check it - he doesn't want to know if it's Justin or someone else, asking him what's going on, wanting him to explain his actions, looking for something from him he can't give.

He tries to stay awake, laying in the dark, for as long as possible, and his mind allows him that for a long while, torturing him with a constant replay of Justin's shattered look, before he finally succumbs to sleep.

Justin is in his dream again, but it's so different from anything he's dreamed before. Justin sits in the empty white room, directly across from him, turned almost into the corner, like he's hiding himself away. He moves toward him, but can't cross the middle of the room, blocked by something he can almost press up against, it feels so tangible. Justin turns to look at him, and he feels it come undone, the words spilling out of his mouth as he says _I'm sorry_ again and again. Justin watches, face unmoved, and he realizes Justin can't hear what he's saying. He says _iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_ , pushing against the barrier, but Justin doesn't hear any of it.

When he wakes up, there's no lingering scent on his skin of Justin's cologne, or imprints of kisses left on his forehead. For the first time in a long time, he realizes the disjointed, incoherent scenes of his dream were of his own creation, and that these are what his dreams are without Justin.

* * *

Justin is angry.

It's incredibly easy to feel that, even though he falls into the dream very late. Justin is pinning him down into the seat, thighs bracketing his own, and Justin is ruthless, in a way he's never felt. It's desperate, needy, fierce, Justin's hands and mouth possessive over him as he pushes him back into the seatback.

Olli's brain snaps to awareness where they're at, but it doesn't make his brain come to. They're 30,000 feet over the Midwest, flying back home, surrounded by the whole team, staff, and everyone in-between; to say this is not the most opportune place for this to happen is probably a slightly massive understatement.

He wants to tell him, to remind him this is a bad idea, but even as his fingers dig into Justin's shoulders, mouth trying to form the words, Justin licks across his neck, and he just hopes he's not moaning in his sleep on the plane with everyone around him.

It's the most bizarre of all of the dreams they've shared. He's almost completely awake, and completely not; he knows everything he's doing, biting at his bottom lip to make sure he's staying quiet, but he can't get himself out of sleeping. Instead, he lets Justin dominate him, opening his mouth when Justin's crushes against his, letting Justin's tongue sweep in.

He's an idiot to go along with this, but he can't help himself; he slides his hands under Justin's shirt, nails digging into Justin's back when he grinds down in his lap, ass catching against his dick. He slides his hands back to grab on, slipping under Justin's waistband to get at his skin, and Justin leans back, riding him hard and fast.

It's too much. He puts his head in the crease of Justin's neck, hands bruising as they hold on. Justin's whispering something in his ear, incoherent phrases that don't mean anything except to say _I'm here, I got you_ , and he lets himself be dragged along. His fears, of calling out on the plane where everyone can hear, of the distinct chance he's going to end up with cum on him again, all melt away. If this is the only place he'll able to feel like this, he doesn't want this dream to ever end.

Justin breaks away, licking his hand twice before shoving it down his track pants, and he bites down at the thin skin right where Justin's shoulder meets his neck, feeling him stiffen in surprise.

"The hell?" Justin almost whispers, other hand coming up to touch the bite, and he tries to open his mouth to apologize, when he realizes he can't speak. And he might have realized that before, but it really sinks in now - Justin can talk to him, but he can't respond.

They're both staring at one another, but he knows they're thinking different things. His mind is racing with a thousand possibilities he just connected, things that didn't make sense until just now. He's still watching Justin, but he's not really seeing him until he speaks again.

"Shit, this isn't real again," Justin mutters, looking around at their half-constructed dream for the first time. "I need to wake up."

And then Justin disappears, right off his lap.

It's only a moment before he feels himself being dragged awake, but it's forced, as if his body wasn't ready. He starts in a panic, but nothing is changed - they're still flying, everyone around him still asleep, the guys in the very front still playing a quiet game of cards. He looks across the aisle, two rows ahead, but Justin isn't sitting in his seat anymore. The bathroom sign is lit up, and he almost debates going to knock, because he just knows Justin's about to break down, but all the lights go down, and the attendants ask them to prepare for landing.

Justin hurries back to his seat, and he can't make out his face in the dark. Even after they land, everyone is rushing, trying to get home, and he doesn't see Justin until they meet at his truck, ready to drive back to their complex together. They climb in without a word, silent as their usual drives together have been since he got his head stuck up his ass, but he can sense every emotion Justin is feeling, not nearly as intense but enough to know he's cycling through a myriad of feelings, anxious and scared and sad and uncertain.

He wonders if Justin can feel the same, pushing outward as many calm thoughts as he can, breathing deep, and for a moment Justin just _stops_ , racing emotions leaving off for a moment as a wave of tranquility overtakes him. It's hard to see in the dark, but he can tell Justin cuts his eyes to him for a moment before they turn back to the road. A few minutes later, Justin pulls into the parking garage, and they head to the elevator, Justin pressing both of their floors without a word. There's not a lot of anything coming off of him, and he doesn't know if that's a relief or something he should really worry about.

When the doors open at Justin's floor, Justin nods to him, stepping out without a word, and the door close behind him. He's fine for a moment, just before the elevator begins to move, when the wave of misery hits him again, and he slams his hand against the open door button, stepping out on to Justin's floor without a second thought.

Justin's door is just closing when he reaches it, but before he even reaches up to knock, it opens again. Justin stands there, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time, and he shakes his head, misery giving way to uncertainty.

"I knew you were there. Like, I _felt_ it," Justin says, as if he doesn't believe himself. "What the hell is going on?"

"I think I can explain," he says, and Justin opens the door to let him in.

* * *

He doesn't know where to begin.

He's sitting on Justin's couch, Justin right next to him, side-by-side, but he's not looking at Justin, and he knows Justin's not looking at him. When he takes a peek at him out from under his eyelashes, Justin is staring blankly at the wall, but all he sees is the blooming imprint of teeth across Justin's neck.

"I'm sorry, about the bite."

Justin turns toward him, but he just keeps staring, like he's not sure what he's talking about. "What did you say?"

"In the dream. When we were on the plane. I was just trying to keep quiet."

He brings his hand up, brushing his thumb across the mark, and Justin's eyes flutter shut, leaning into his touch and allowing himself to sink into the feeling before he seems to remember what's actually happening.

Justin sits back to look at him. "I don't get what's going on."

But he does, because he finally figured it all out.

"We're sharing our dreams. Or, wait, your dreams, but I'm coming into them, I think. I thought for such a long time it was me, that I was dreaming the dreams and dragging you along, and I kind of couldn't handle it. My brother said he and his girlfriend went through the same thing, and that we were probably building the dreams together somehow, but I just felt, I don't know. That I was forcing you into this. That maybe you didn't want to be part of this."

Justin looks like he wants to roll his eyes but is doing them both a service by holding back. "I kept dreaming about you and it was making me go crazy. How did you miss the way I was practically hanging over you for forever? I came into your hotel room and laid on your bed, in just my boxers..."

He looks down at his hands, unsure of how to verbalize it. "It's not like I was self-consciously thinking something like 'he would never want me' or whatever. It's just a lot to take in, what was happening, _how_ it was happening, and my brother was saying it was because you might be, you know, my _person_ , and I just wanted it to be simpler. Like everyone else, I guess."

Justin, because he's Justin, doesn't seem to hold that against him. "That's fair," he says, cupping his cheek with one hand. "I know it's a lot, and it's going to be a lot for a long time, but you could have told me you were overwhelmed."

In retrospect, he realize that. Justin seems so open and reluctant to pass judgement he kind of lets himself ease into the feeling of being together, and Justin seems to feel it as well, sliding a palm to rest flat against his face, letting the feeling pass between them.

"When did you realize everything?" Justin asks, and it takes a moment to tune down the vibrations coming off of him and find his voice again.

"I realized on the plane you were controlling them, because you could talk and I couldn't. And everything kind of made sense, after that. I never started the dream in a true starting point, but I think that's because you fall asleep faster than I do, so I was always coming in late. And in the plane, I knew I was dreaming but couldn't wake myself up, and I think I can only come out of the dream when you are coming out of it first. And yeah, the closer we are to one another, the more vibrant the dreams. What did you dream about when we were in those connected suites in LA?"

Justin looks up, as if thinking back, and he bites back a laugh at Justin's face when he realizes what he's talking about. "Yeah, I uh-"

"Came on me. And just like your bite here," he says, brushing fingers against Justin's neck again until he shivers, "I brought out that of the dream into life, too."

Justin's laughing half-awkwardly, and he smiles back at him, letting that sink in. It still sounds like the absolute craziest shit he's ever heard in his life, even though he's (mostly) figured it all out now.

"I kind of wonder what our dreams would be like if we slept together. Like, sleep sleep," Justin finally says, and he shoots a bemused look at Justin for the completely lack of subtlety.

Everything's so mellow, finally calm after months of chaos, and he feels himself slipping into a comfortable sort of relaxation, like puzzle pieces fitting together. "Should we try?"

Justin nods his head down the hall, getting off the couch to pull him up, and Justin's room is exactly like he saw in the dreams, the pictures, the putter, the details that, in hindsight, only made sense coming from Justin's imagination, not his.

They strip down, a little more giggly than they get in the locker room, and Justin throws back the duvet, holding it open so he can climb in on his side and snuggle down with Justin when he rolls over to meet him in the middle of the bed, mouth warm and soft against his. It feels almost familiar, kissing Justin, feeling the muscles of his back beneath his palms, and he smiles against his mouth, letting the feeling sink down beneath his skin, into his blood, into his body.

For once, he wants to be the one starting this.

"Sweet dreams, Justin."

**Author's Note:**

> Kusipää is Finnish for pisshead, or basically asshole
> 
> Skitstövel is Swedish for asshole
> 
> (at least that's what the internet told me)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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